


Dessinoval, Haziel, Val, and Thalzen Drabbles

by RittaPokie



Series: Tales From the Dragon Age [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 07:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13519182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RittaPokie/pseuds/RittaPokie





	1. The Stranger

“I don’t trust him.” Haziel says, regarding the sleeping elf the two hunters had brought back to camp.

“He’s been unconscious since we found him.” her brother replies. “Besides, you don’t trust anyone, so it’s not as if I can place much weight on that statement.”

"He hasn’t been unconscious the whole time.” She huffs. “Just most.”

“What is it about him that has you in such a twist?” he rests his hand on the sleeping elf’s forehead. The raven haired elf whimpers and turns his face away.

“He doesn’t look like us, Dessi. He looks…odd. His skin is almost greenish, and his ears are so sharply pointed.” She squirms in her seat. “He looks like what a shem who never saw an elf would describe, if prompted.”

“He looks more elf than you, lethallin.” Dess chuckles, and flicks the rounded tips of her ears with his fingers. “Perhaps his blood is more pure. It’s not as if we can know we’ve ever seen such. Shem features are overwhelmingly dominant to elven ones.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s definitely a mage, and we’ve already three mages and another about to come into her magic.” Haziel shakes her head. “I don’t know what we’ll do with that child. She’s so young still, but our others have jobs to fill.”

“Risa left, remember?” Dess reminds her. “I know the Keeper hasn’t said, but she isn’t coming back. I’ve heard whispers among the elders. The conclave was destroyed. She is likely dead. And if she’s not, do you think she would not happily give her place for a youngster?”

“Do not speak like that.” She swats his arm. “Ilo went along too, and you know that Val would be devastated if he lost her.”

Dess scoffs. “Ilo. As if she actually went. She probably overslept and missed the conclave entirely.”

“I need to return to my duties, but I don’t want to leave you alone with…” She scowls down at the sleeping elf. “He’s dangerous, I can feel it.”

“Sister, please. I can defend myself.” Dess shoves her lightly in the direction of the keeper. “Do check in on Val later, though. He’s been a bit down since we wouldn’t let him go with Risa and Ilo. I’m worried he’ll go after them.” His sister nods and walks away.

\---

It’s late into the night when the sleeping elf finally stirs. Dess had almost fallen asleep sitting up in his aravel-the other had taken his bed. The raven sits up suddenly and his ears twitch back. He growls and clutches his side where he’d been hit earlier by a bandit’s hammer. He tries to stand but falls back to his knees with a choked sound of pain.

Dess’ eyes blink open and he jumps to his feet. He presses his hands to the other elf’s shoulders, trying to get the raven to lie back down. “You’ll injure yourself further, friend. Please. You’re safe here.”

The other elf meets Dess’ eyes with a wild look in his own, light brown ones. He scowls and pushes against Dess’ grip on his shoulders. He struggles harder when he can’t budge it. Magic buzzes in his fingertips and Dess braces himself for the jolt of electricity that bursts through his hands and arms. “Stop. I’m not going to hurt you.” Dess keeps his hands on the other’s shoulders despite the attack. “Do you not remember?”

The other doesn’t seem to hear, his breathing erratic with panic, the air around them buzzing with the charge of another spell. Dess finally relents and steps back. Red and purple glass-like shattered lines run up just past his elbows with faint wisps of smoke trailing from them. Blood oozes out of some of the larger lines. It only stings, but then most of the feeling is still gone. The dark haired elf scuttles backwards to the far corner of the aravel, holding his knees close to his chest and no doubt worsening the injury on his side. Dess can hear him wheezing from where he stands.

“I won’t hurt you.” Haziel will have both their asses about the electricity spell in the morning, but that’s a worry for another time. Dess moves slowly to sit in front of the panicking elf.

“Wh-” the raven tries, and swallows hard. His voice is hoarse. “Where am I?” His pale, bluish lips look painfully cracked. He has barely healed wounds from biting down on them and dried blood at the corners of his mouth.

Dess hands him the bottle of water from his belt and he turns it upside down into his mouth, gulping it greedily. “With my clan, in my aravel. Somewhere in the Free Marches.” he answers.

“I…” the elf says, when he empties the bottle. He grips it so tightly that Dess worries it might shatter. “I am sorry…” he nods at the damage caused by the spell. “I can heal it, if you would let me?”

“Do not waste your strength. The keeper will tend to me later.” Dess smiles. Without the pain in the elf’s eyes… Haziel was wrong, he’s really rather beautiful. “What is your name?”

The elf’s eyes dance in their sockets for a moment, searching. “Wrenth.” He says carefully, after a moment of silence. “And you are?”

“Dessinoval. Most call me Dess, though. My full name is a bit lengthy.” He gently takes the empty bottle from Wrenth’s grasp and stands to fill it from a larger jar nearby.

“Dess.” the raven repeats, committing it to memory. “What happened to me?”

“You were attacked by bandits.” Dess answers, and brings the newly filled bottle back with him. “I’m impressed, really. They outnumbered you six to one, but it was the last one who got you before my sister and I happened upon fight.”

“I don’t remember any of that.” Wrenth says, perplexed. “I… Well, I must seem a mess to you.”

“You’ve had a rough week or two, by the looks of it.” Dess nods. “What clan do you come from? You’ve vallaslin.”

“Dinlen? Dinvel?” he shakes his head, “It’s been so long, I hardly remember. We worshiped Falon'din most. They’ve all…well I’m certain they’ve all met him now…”

“You clan is dead? That’s horrible.” Dess’ heart swells with sympathy. “What happened to them?”

“I…” He pushes further against the wall of the aravel. “I hadn’t seen them in…”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t push for information. I’m sure it’s upsetting to talk about.” the other nods, but there’s something insincere about it. Perhaps Haziel is right about something being odd with this elf.

Wrenth relaxes a bit, still holding his wound. “Thank you for helping me.” Healing magic flows from his fingers into his side and he grimaces as his ribs crack back into place. “I should…go.”

“Really? But you’re in such poor health. Not just the wound. You look as though you haven’t eaten in a few weeks.” Dess catches the other’s arms when he stands. “You need to be cared for.”

“I’m…I’m alright. Really.” the raven mutters, not meeting Dess’ eyes. “Please…” he tugs from Dess’ grip.

Dess stares after him as he walks unsteadily to the entrance of the aravel. “Then I’m coming with you.”

Wrenth turns his head back to Dess and his eyes are wide with shock. “Wh-no, why would you come with me?” He seems to find the idea ridiculous.

“It’s a dangerous area. You’re not well. I’m a defender, it’s my job. I’ll leave notice for my sister so she won’t worry, and-” he pulls the knife from his boot and scratches the note into the wall of the aravel. The walls are covered in words from over the years, so he wedges the knife into the wall next to the newest addition.

Wrenth is already outside of the camp by the time Dess is finished, but Dess has no trouble catching him. Over the next few hours of walking, Wrenth seems content to just ignore that any of it is happening and Dess’ presence entirely.

\---

“Are you uncomfortable?” Wrenth asks, nodding at Dess’ shivering form from across the fire. They’ve been traveling together for almost three months now, going who knows where. Wrenth hadn’t said. Dess was sure Haziel was ready to slice him to bits by now.

“It’s…it’s c-colder than I’m used t-to.” He says through his chattering teeth. Wrenth looks apologetic, but says nothing.

Despite the chill in his bones, Dess can’t help but admire his looks yet again. The raven has lost his sickly, starved appearance since they’ve been together, but Haziel is right: he’s an odd color. Food is hard to come by in this frozen area that Wrenth has brought them to, but earlier they’d caught a very fat hare and, with his belly full, Dess finds it hard not to be preoccupied by his raven haired companion.

Wrenth runs his fingers through his hair, lightly pulling at tangles on the ends. Dess feels his throat constrict as he thinks, not for the first time, that he’d like to be the one with his fingers sliding through the soft black tresses. “What?” Wrenth asks, eyeing Dess, whose gaze is no doubt a little heavy.

Dess tears his eyes away and clears his throat. “Nothing.” Well, he’s a bit warmer now, at least.

Wrenth scoots around the fire to sit closer, likely offering his body heat for Dess’ chill. That doesn’t help any of Dess’ other problems. Their shoulders brush and Wrenth thinks the touch completely innocent. Dess scolds himself for feeling this way. The raven has shown him no interest the entire time they’ve traveled together. How dare his skin prickle where Wrenth touches it.

Dess stares into the dark forest for several minutes, trying to clear his head. When he looks back, Wrenth’s brow is furrowed at the scars on Dess’ arms. He’d never let Wrenth heal them properly after the spell. It’s not as if his arms were horribly damaged from it, just scarred on the surface.

Wrenth’s fingers brush against one on his wrist and the contact is just as electric as the spell that caused the marks. Dess forces himself not to move, to just let Wrenth do whatever it is he intends to do. The raven pushes Dess’ sleeve up to look follow the scars up his arm. Dess bites down on his bottom lip and pulls his arm away. He can’t allow this. Whatever it is that Wrenth intends with the gesture, it is not what Dess feels that makes his toes curl.

“I-” Wrenth tries, but doesn’t finish his sentence, sighing at the crackling fire. “The Exalted Plains are not far.” he says.

“Is that where we’re going?” Dess rushes out. His breath catches in his throat when Wrenth lays his head on his shoulder and hums softly.

“Have you ever been?” the raven mumbles. “It’s beautiful, or it was, when I was last there.”

Dess chances a look at the head resting on his shoulder and meets Wrenth’s eyes. Illuminated by the fire, they shimmer like gold. His heart pounds at the soft, relaxed smile on Wrenth’s face. He has to make the other get off him, stop touching him, or something, but he can’t. He can’t stop himself as he gently presses his lips to that gentle smile. Wrenth tenses when they touch and Dess knows he must’ve made a mistake, but the raven shifts until he’s facing Dess more directly and deepens the kiss. Dess takes this blessing for what it is and threads his fingers through the flowing black tresses. He feels Wrenth shiver when he tightens his grip on the raven’s hair.

Wrenth gasps when Dess tugs his head back and mouths along his throat. He growls low in his throat, like he’s starved for touch as he was for sustenance when they met. Dess guides the raven with his free hand until the other is straddling his lap. He releases the coveted ebony tresses to slide both hands under Wrenth’s tunic.

The raven moans but catches the other’s wrists when his hands slip under the hem of his pants. “W-wait. I…” Dess moves his hands to rest on Wrenth’s hips while the raven catches his breath. “I-it’s been…a long time…and I n-never did this..um, very often..” he murmurs, his face flushing bright red.

Dess nods, though his breathing is fast and his head is spinning with lust. “I won’t go further than you want me to.” If it means finishing alone, then so be it, he won’t make Wrenth uncomfortable.

“Thank you.” Wrenth says, and rests his forehead against Dess’. Dess’ thumbs rub slow cirlces against the raven’s hips, sooting. Wrenth takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. With his hands braced on Dess’ shoulders, he rolls his hips experimentally against the other’s. Dess moans and grips the ravens hips harder. He shouldn’t be so worked up already, but this man does something to him. Wrenth pushes him back against the cold grass and rips at the laces on his leather leggings.

“Creators.” Dess gasps when the raven gets both their pants down enough and takes both their hard cocks in his hands. Dess doesn’t know which part of Wrenth’s body to focus on. His head tossing back and shaking out his hair, his chest heaving with labored breathing and hushed moans, thin fingers stroking both of their erections together.

Dess’ back arches and he’s sure to leave bruises on Wrenth’s hips when the raven picks up the pace, chasing his own release. He reaches up and tugs at the front of Wrenth’s tunic to crash their lips together. The raven bites down on his lips hard enough to draw blood and he really shouldn’t find that so hot, but he does. Wrenth continues his bites along Dess’ jaw and down his throat, sucking bruises over his pounding pulse, groaning and jerking his hips in short thrusts.

Dess scratches his fingernails up the raven’s back under his tunic and Wrenth shudders and keens as he spills over Dess’ stomach. He keeps rolling his hips through his climax. The erratic movements and ecstatic whines from the raven are enough to send the other over the edge as well.


	2. Rage

Val sits cross legged on the floor of his quarters, shifting his eyes between the Anchor and the book of common demons open on his lap. The demons are named after emotions, the qualities and traits of people. Pride, Sloth, Desire, Rage, Fear, so on. They all use a certain school of magic. He hasn't faced them all, but he has faced Pride, Rage, and Fear. Electricity, fire, and cold.

He knows that Rusca doesn't approve of this, doesn't approve of even the idea of it. But he's here, he has this thing on his hand, and he can't just keep pretending it's not magic. That magic energy doesn't flow from it when he concentrates. "Rage." He whispers to himself. He knows that fire and cold are often the first schools to be used by new mages. That they're easy to get started. Also easy to lose control of, especially fire.

He remembers a time when he felt rage. Pure, unbridled rage. In Redcliffe. He'd come through the portal with the memory of Rusca dying fresh in his mind and when he saw the man responsible, he felt it.  
He pulls at the fringes of his memory, where he stored this one because it's unpleasant, closing the book and placing it off to the side. _Rage_.

It's vivid when he closes his eyes. Rusca, smiling to him, protecting him from demons as they trample the door and sink their sickly claws into his flesh. "Vhenan" the white haired elf had said. Val's face twists in agony, the pain of losing the one he loves still strong, but he pushes it aside. It's not the emotion he's looking for.

He blinks tears away and closes his eyes again. _Further, further_. Gereon Alexius. The one who hurt Rusca. Ended his life in another timeline. Val feels his stomach churn at the thought, though he has forgiven the man. He focuses on what he felt that made him snarl and beat the man with his fists. It was a part of himself that he had never faced before, wasn't aware he had at all. The _savage_.

He remembers his blood feeling on fire, boiling under his skin. His face hot and his vision red. The sense of a gaping maw of teeth and claws where his chest was meant to be.

He can feel his heart pounding in his ears, blocking the whistle of the wind around the tower, though the crackle of the fireplace and the clash of swords in the training yard still come through clearly.

Focusing the way he's been practicing for weeks. The tingling in his hand, the feeling of pinching in his palm. It is closed but it can open, it wants to be open, to let through what's behind it, so he lets it.

There's always a singing that follows, the magic itself. Though it is usually far off and warbling, but not today. Today it rings clear, loud, distinguishable from background noise. It sets searing heat in his fingers before the fire in the hearth pops loudly, startling him from his focus.

His breathing comes fast, heavy, heart racing and beating against his chest. His hand feels raw and aches like it did when he first got it. The wooden floor around the fireplace is scorched and darkened.


	3. Rather Have You Happy

"May I speak freely, inquisitor?" Lyna asks, coming to stand next to Val on the battlements. He had been staring off into the distance for quite some time and she had a feeling she knew what for.

"Of course." He says, turning his attention to her.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" She hisses, "Exploring the fade. You're not even a Mage!"

"But I have the anchor-"

"Rusca was so distraught, you've no idea!" She pauses to wipe tears from her eyes. "I thought he might hurt himself, he nearly _did_."

"I didn't- lethallan, I didn't know..."  
"I don't know what I'd do without him. So, do better."

\---

"Vhenan..." Val says, sitting on his bed next to Rusca. "I am so sorry."

"You're back now." Rusca says.

Val swallows hard and wraps his arms around the smaller elf. "You are so important to me, I could not stand to be without you."

"Val-"

"I have been a fool. I will stop my attempts at using the anchor for magic." He says, "I would rather have you happy."


	4. Val's Diary

For all it hurts me to have it, at least he doesn't. At least the anchor isn't on his hand. At least he doesn't have this awful power. At least he doesn't have this pain. For all of eternity, I would bear this burden, so long as it meant he doesn't have to. I would curse the Creators for resigning me to this fate, to something that will likely kill me eventually, but they spared him. They kept him from the conclave, they kept him from this burden, they kept him from this pain. I have only thanks to give.

 

[on a tear-stained page] Redcliffe was the worst thing I've ever experienced. Sucked into a time where he had been tortured and broken and it was all my fault. All my fault. [the writing is shaky, smudged from tears, and the page is covered in ink droplets, barely legible] How dare I put him in such danger? I had to watch him die for me. I watched demons sink their claws into him and I could do nothing. I was useless. I cannot protect him. He deserves better.

 

We had barely a moment's rest before hell descended upon Haven. We lost Haven. We lost it. To a dragon and a self-proclaimed god. And I had to leave him. Again. Fenedhis. What did I do to deserve this madness?

 

Why must I have a heart? This sickly beating thing beating drums whenever I see him. Why?

 

Solas is something bad, I feel chills under my skin whenever I see him. I don't know why this happens. It began after Redcliffe. I know he is responsible for the anchor's stabilization. It hurt again in the other time, where Solas was not. It was pusing again. Spreading. Slowly, much slower than it did in the beginning, but I could feel it. And when I returned, it stopped. It is him. He is doing something to it. He claims my power over it means that it the breach was deliberate, but what does his power over it mean? And he claims the orb that Corypheus wields is elven. How could he possibly know? And why did he claim to know nothing in Haven when he asked me to find it? Why did he know nothing then but know things now? What changed? He didn't see it. I barely described it to him. He says there are items dedicated to specific creators. Who would cause such destruction? Elgar'nan? Fen'harel? Perhaps Mythal, but she passes vengeance along to Elgar'nan, and this was not vengeance. This is...something else. A rebellion against the sky, against the gods. Against all of the gods, not just the creators.

 

He tries to kiss me when he's drunk. It's torture. It's the worst form of torture I could ever imagine. And he says the nicest, sweetest things to me. What have I done to deserve the torture of being so close to the one I love without any relief from the crushing pain that comes with having possibly unrequited feelings? Just because he called me vhenan in the other time does not mean he will here. Perhaps I need to stop clinging to such an idea. Ah, if I could. If I could. But I know I can't. Never, ever. I'm hopeless here. It's absolutely ridiculous. I'm supposed to be concerning myself with political matters and he's all I think about.


End file.
